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Dear Frogs,

(and by Frogs I mean the TCU men’s basketball team),

Dear Frogs,

(and by Frogs I mean only the men on the TCU men’s basketball team who played in Wednesday’s game)

Dear Frogs,

I am addressing you as politely as possible from the grave. The status of my soul seems yet to be determined, for while my body is undoubtedly keeping Tarrant County worms happy and healthy, my soul is currently imbibing its spirits at the Bull n’ Bush on Montgomery. That there are spirits for it to imbibe make me think I made it, the final cut, the last station, the celestial team: I’m in heaven. But looking back on all my experiences with drinking, it could just as easily go the other way.

Similarly, there are women here, and a woman, as we all know, is God’s proof that He loves man—they are, in general, like an improvement, an updated setting in the software with which we’ve been pre-programmed, including yours truly. But then I think of past relationships, and I’m not at all certain I won’t be haunted by a demon or two.

Anyway, a few drinks in, I have decided that the Catholics are right; I am in Purgatory. Purgatory is a pub on Montgomery Street, in Fort Worth, TX 76107—please don’t write back; all mail will be summarily returned.

It is now time to get to business, for the sake of others, not myself, as it is too late for me, I am dead.

Dear Frogs,

Please allow me, as gently as possible, to request that in the future you not allow these games to land so narrowly between victory and defeat. I jokingly prophesied in one of my last articles of this mortal coil that we could be gnawing the nubs of our fingernails when watching you play against Oklahoma State. I suspect there are now many poor Horned Frogs altogether fingerless. And I am dead. There’s that.

So please, spare us our heart attacks and self-imposed digital amputations. When you face a team, beat them by a minimum of ten points (twenty would be better, but I don’t want to come across as too demanding. After all, I am hardly in a place to negotiate—being dead). This will provide a far more salubrious atmosphere for us Horned Frog fans to enjoy our favorite team doing our favorite thing: winning.

You see, dear Frogs, I can only imagine the trauma experienced by those who were in attendance in Stillwater last night—or for that matter, those who viewed the game on ESPN+, or, as I like to call it, ESPN-. They, collectively, must require immediate medical attention. Because I was merely Googling “TCU Men’s Basketball” while jobbing at the taco shop, and by the end I was refreshing the page by the second, that is, until, you know.

Let us be clear here. You were up by six points with 1:33 left to play. What went wrong? How did that happen?

I should let you know my last moments on this Earth were happy. I was enjoying a fine conversation with my coworker, Yasmine, was texting a cute lady named Tracey, planning a date, putting in an order and, for once, pleased to do it.

Then, I hit Google.

Up by one. From six. How was such a thing possible, and in such short time?

I refreshed the page.

“Excuse me, sir.”

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“Be right with you, ma’am!”

Refresh the page.

“Excuse me!”

“Just a second, ma’am!”

Refresh the page.

“Excuse me!”

“Won’t be long now, please, just four seconds. I’ll be right with you!”

“May I speak with a manager?!”

That kind lady will not need to speak with a manager anywhere any longer to complain about me. Because I’m dead. And dead men don’t get terminated. I should like whoever reads this to know it’s the small things in death that make it worthwhile: no orders, no terminations, no taxes. Oh yeah, no losses.

So, on behalf of Horned Frog fans everywhere, I ask you men of the TCU basketball team, 2021-22, to please keep all games in the future with a ten point disparity, us ahead, from two minutes in the First Half till the end. I consider this a matter of supreme exigency, on behalf of Horned Frogs everywhere.

Sincerely,

From the grave,

And Ye Olde Bull and Bush on Montgomery Street 76107,

T. (formerly known as the artist formerly known as Tyler mother-lovin Brown)

P.S.,

Try not to look so happy when reading—I have feelings here.

P.P.S.,

Fearless Leader, the Ryann Zeller, is no doubt dead now too. She's been dying while reading my pieces for the last two months.  Please win.

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